It's that time of year again... Macro March! I'm still keeping at these! And managing to keep them short too, even. Here's hoping you enjoy it and that I'm able to knock out a few more of these big vignettes, bignettes, in the few weeks remaining.

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Macro March: Colossus Among the Clouds

By: RaddaRaem

Miranda worriedly regarded the miasma whorling outside her window. Hand cupped against her cheek, the sharply dressed cow stared out past the scratches and condensation that lined the plexiglass. A crackle of static prompted the wheat colored bovine’s ears to swivel towards the speakers embedded into the ceiling of the plane cabin.


“Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. While cloudy skies were expected at the outset of our flight, the full-blown storms they developed into were not. Much less Macro March storms. As a precaution, we’ll be descending shortly to make an emergency landing. Buckle up those seat belts as some turbulence is expected.”


The bovine’s ears flattened against her head as another burst of static crackled through the cabin. “Emergency landing and, lemme guess, indefinite layovers. Knew I should’ve driven home,” Miranda sighed as she knocked her knees against the back of the seat before her. Reaching under the seat-back tray, she brushed a hand along her skirt and kneaded at those tensed muscles.

Not unexpectedly, the plane rattled violently.

Bouncing back and forth between the crappy plastic armrests, the bovine furrowed her brows and peered out once more at the thick and soupy purplish-black haze. Intermittent flashes of lightning illuminated the silhouette of the angular wings jutting out from the side of the plane. “We really are in the thick of it…” she thought. Her eyes sleepily drifted towards the row opposite her. Miranda’s lone neighbor on this red-eye flight, a disheveled wolf, simply yawned and crossed his arms about his chest.

“No use getting worked up over it, I guess,” she reassured herself. The cow reached up towards the ceiling and pinched her keratin tipped fingers against the ridges of the eyeball-like air vent staring down at her. She aimed its gaze towards herself and twisted it. A steady stream of cold air, accompanied by a faint whistle, puffed against her face.

Batting her heavy eyelids, the pale glow of the cabin lights bleeding through the back of them, Miranda nestled back against her seat. She playfully chomped at the recycled air venting against her snout as her hips pressed against the arm rests. “Oh come on, it’s not like I ate that much…” One eye creaked open, the bovine groaned at the crumb lined seat-back tray. Emptied bags of peanuts and pretzels lay piled high atop it. “Okay so maybe I did,” Miranda bashfully tapered off as her stomach pressed against the tray. Lazily stuffing the wrappers into the seat-back pocket before her, she flipped up the tray and breathed easy for a time.

Filtered air, pulled from the miasma swirling through the plane’s engines, continued to buffet her. Shifting in place, Miranda grunted while she struggled to make herself comfortable. Her seatbelt dug into her waist. The plastic armrests pinched against her sides. With a huff, the Aubrac cow irritably flipped up the arm rests and unbuckled her belt. She found herself at ease yet again.

It was not to last.

“Mmmph!” Miranda protested when she found herself contending with the increasingly cramped leg space. The seat before her creaked as her knees forcefully pressed themselves into the seat-back pocket, the various magazines, wrappers, and safety card crumpling against her thickening limbs. She nervously reached up and jammed a finger against the flight attendant call button as her ample rear spilled out from the sides of her skirt. “This can’t be happening. Not here, not now!” she gasped in between panicked breaths. Teeth clenched, Miranda groaned as the fabric of her business vest audibly strained as it conformed to her increasingly sizable and shapely chest. Pronounced cracks, buttons popping off and colliding with the overhead bins, could be heard within the airplane cabin as the bovine’s expanding frame came to fill her entire row of seats.

“Is there anything I can do for… you…” a feline stewardess pitifully mewled out upon approach.

Distressed creaks reverberated through the cabin as the cow’s cramped legs bent the seats before further and further than they had any reason to. A ruinous crash, accompanied by an explosion of cloth and plastic shrapnel, indicated the row of seats beneath her had done more than just flatten and crumple.

“…Panic,” Miranda none too helpfully offered.

The remainder of the passengers on the red-eye flight abruptly roused themselves awake.